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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788005">Valentines</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda'>LadyGlinda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Food Porn, Light Angst, M/M, No Eurus Holmes, Set in Season 1, Sibling Incest, Valentine's Day, holmescest, minor John Watson/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:00:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wants to do something special for Valentine's Day. It doesn't work as planned, but the outcome is still satisfying.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Valentines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“Wait, Sherlock.”</p><p class="western">The detective turned to his faithful blogger, putting his coat collar up. “What now?” He had solved this case in his usual brilliant way. He wanted to go home and have a cup of hot tea that had appallingly not been offered to him by the police.</p><p class="western">“I need to go in there.” John, all tousled hair and red nose from the cold wind, pointed across the street.</p><p class="western"><em>Lady Carmichael’s Sweet Shop</em>. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You really want to buy some overpriced chocolates? You don't even like sweets.”</p><p class="western">“It's not for me, Sherlock. It's for Silvia. Tomorrow's Valentine's Day. She does love chocolate. And I love her sweets,” John added with a suggestive grin, and Sherlock felt a bit nauseous.</p><p class="western">“No details, please,” he rumbled. “I'll wait for you and check my phone. Be quick.”</p><p class="western">“Yes, master,” John said dryly and hurried to cross the street, only just so escaping a bus.</p><p class="western">Sherlock pulled out his phone but he paid no heed to it. Valentine’s Day. One of those awful occasions to buy presents nobody needed because the media said one should. And who the hell was Silvia? Had John ever even mentioned her? Probably yes, and he had deleted this unimportant piece of information.</p><p class="western">But… Would Mycroft expect him to buy something for him? Or do something… gulp… romantic for him? It seemed very improbable. But what if he did, and Sherlock did nothing, and Mycroft was disappointed and hurt? He couldn’t risk that. Of course he could have asked his brother but he knew him. Even if he, perhaps secretly, liked, even craved that kind of attention, he would tell Sherlock that he shouldn’t bother. But he did – bother. About big brother. A lot. Mycroft always took such good care of him. It was about time to give something back!</p><p class="western">No box of chocolates though. At least not only that. And he could hardly buy it when John was with him as of course <span>not even his best friend knew that he and his brother did not just get along a bit better since John had first met Mycroft but indeed really well to the point of a law-breaking, incestuous relationship.</span> He had to make a plan, and he had to make it quickly.</p><p class="western">When they were back in Baker Street, he told John that he wasn’t to be disturbed and retreated into his bedroom with his laptop to do some direly needed research.</p><p class="western">***** ***** *****</p><p class="western">When Mycroft came home after a long, arduous day at work, he knew at once that something was off. He wasn’t alone, which was very pleasant, because only someone with a key and profound knowledge of his alarm system could be there – and there was Sherlock's coat hanging at the coat hook bar next to the door so no further deduction was needed. And he had not seen his brother for almost a week due to their work schedules so he was more than happy to have him here. But the odd smell in the air was disconcerting. As if someone – Sherlock, obviously – had tried to cook and almost burnt down the kitchen. Or the house. And Sherlock wasn’t there to greet him.</p><p class="western">He hurried to store his umbrella – it ended in its stand rather lopsided – and shrug off his own coat without bothering to hang it up neatly before he stalked through the corridor, looking into every room. He hoped that Sherlock was upstairs in his bedroom, spread out on the bed with a wide grin on his face, but he feared that he would find him in a way less pleasant condition. Perhaps straight on the floor, unconscious from inhaling smoke. Or even worse – burnt to ashes.</p><p class="western">Mycroft was aware that he was catastrophising. There had been no devastating fire. The house looked completely normal and it didn't smell like that at all. It smelled like burnt food.</p><p class="western">His deductions had been right, he realised with more than a hint of relief when he had reached his kitchen. Something black and inedible in a soiled pan in the sink. Used kitchen equipment everywhere – a mess his kitchen had never seen before. And in the middle, a desperate little brother, wearing nothing but something that resembled pants but looked like straight from a sex shop – a red, silky piece of nothing, clinging to this amazing bottom most appealingly.</p><p class="western">And Sherlock's mercurial eyes, red-rimmed and desperate. “I’m so sorry, Mycie. I wanted to do something nice for you. I calculated how long the fish would take and… And then I somehow got distracted and…”</p><p class="western">Mycroft smiled. Probably his phone had showed an irresistible text. “It’s okay, brother mine. But… excuse this question, but why did you want to cook in the first place? It’s not something you usually do.” Or had ever done before… Or should in all probability ever do again...</p><p class="western">“But… it’s Valentine’s Day and… people do nice things for each other, don’t they?”</p><p class="western">Good God. Valentine’s Day. Just another invention of the sweets manufacturers, the flower shops and the jewellers. Making stupid goldfish buy overpriced things in packages looking like hearts. And really – he could spot such a box of chocolates on the messy table! And Sherlock's outfit… Sexy of course but also a tad… ridiculous. But Mycroft was deeply touched by Sherlock making such an effort to make this silly day special for them.</p><p class="western">“You hate it,” Sherlock mumbled, his shoulders slumping in a way that made Mycroft's heart clench with sympathy and guilt at his reaction even though he was sure he had barely flinched. “And why wouldn’t you – I almost set your house on fire…”</p><p class="western">“Sherlock, love, come here.”</p><p class="western">“M’dirty,” the younger man protested but Mycroft pulled him into a tight embrace.</p><p class="western">“<span>Lovely</span> little brother,” he mumbled. “Never thought such a day would mean anything to you.” He had not even wasted a thought on their very first Valentine’s Day together. What kind of a lover was he? True, they both usually despised such common and annoying habits but it was a day for lovers in the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything nice for you.”</p><p class="western">“You always do all kinds of things for me,” Sherlock all but sobbed against his neck, his arms closed around Mycroft's waist. “And I always take it for granted and never give you anything in return.”</p><p class="western">“But… that’s not true!” Mycroft pulled back to look at him. “You always listen to me when I complain about my boring work. About the PM and that colleague that keeps hitting on me. You make me laugh by imitating horrible people. You always know when I need a kiss, or a hug, and you’re the best lover I could wish for.”</p><p class="western">Sherlock looked at him from beneath his long lashes. “Am I?”</p><p class="western">“Of course! And the only one I want. I am sorry that I paid no heed to the occasion. I didn't think you would want it.”</p><p class="western">“I didn’t, either. But… I thought if I ignored it, you could be hurt, and that couldn’t happen.”</p><p class="western">“Oh, my dear, dear boy.” Mycroft was deeply moved. “You never hurt me.” <em>Anymore</em> remained unsaid, but Sherlock could hardly not be aware of the fact that he had done that quite thoroughly in the past. Not even so much by his frankly ghastly behaviour towards Mycroft but by his drug use and by risking his life out of boredom and rebellion. These times were over as were the times of weight jokes and refusing to take Mycroft's cases. The doctor was highly oblivious to these changes; judging by his rather smug grin when Mycroft dropped by to ask them (or rather Sherlock) for help, he credited these positive developments to his own good influence on the detective. And maybe that was even true, who knew?</p><p class="western">In any way Sherlock had proven to be a surprisingly caring partner for Mycroft, and he wouldn’t allow Sherlock to doubt this. True, Mycroft did provide dinner for them whenever Sherlock came over in the evening, made Sherlock rather pricey gifts like coats and suits and had even managed to organise a very satisfying weekend in a highly discreet resort not long ago but he didn't expect Sherlock to think he owed him something for that. Mycroft spoilt him as much as he could because he loved him like mad, and knowing that Sherlock loved him back in equal measures and experiencing Sherlock's affection in- and outside of the bedroom was enough reward for him.</p><p class="western">He raised Sherlock's chin with his forefinger and kissed him, and Sherlock sighed into his mouth, obviously relieved and more pliant than ever, and the kiss got heated very quickly. Mycroft's hands slid over his brother’s long, smooth back down to these cheeky pants, and he grabbed the gorgeous globes they were barely hiding. He wondered if Sherlock had really walked into a sex shop to buy them and grinned against his brother’s lips when he imagined John waiting outside after having been told that Sherlock was just doing research. But in all probability Sherlock had bought them alone, and Mycroft had to admit he wholeheartedly appreciated the idea. The hardness of his cock, which was grinding against its equally aroused counterpart, spoke volumes of that.</p><p class="western">“Shall we postpone dinner and go upstairs so I can have a look what’s in those fancy pants?” he hoarsely asked, and Sherlock nodded so forcefully that his curls bounced.</p><p class="western">“By all means, Mycroft. I’m squeaky clean for you to explore everything you want.”</p><p class="western">“It’s really Valentine’s Day,” Mycroft chuckled. “Oh, and shall we take those chocolates with us?”</p><p class="western">Sherlock groaned. “Totally forgot to give them to you. Yes. Let’s take them so we can do naughty things with them.”</p><p class="western">“You know, I guess I underestimated the meaning of this day.”</p><p class="western">“I love you, Mycroft.” Sherlock's clear blue-green eyes were boring into his. “Just wanted to tell you that with all this. Didn’t work out too well…”</p><p class="western">“Ah, I wouldn’t say that at all. The day’s not over yet.”</p><p class="western">Sherlock beamed at him. “Very true. I’m all yours. Not only today but…”</p><p class="western">“I see what you mean,” Mycroft assured him. “Come, love. Let’s celebrate this sentimental occasion in style.”</p><p class="western">Sherlock grinned. “Don’t pretend you still hate sentiment.”</p><p class="western">“I don’t,” Mycroft admitted. “Not when it’s concerning you.”</p><p class="western">“Us,” Sherlock corrected and Mycroft squeezed his cheeks again.</p><p class="western">“Yes. Always us.”</p><p class="western">*****</p><p class="western">When Mycroft entered his bedroom after a quick but vigorous shower, not having bothered with putting on any clothes again, Sherlock was spread out on the bed as he had hoped for at his arrival.</p><p class="western">“I allowed myself to order dinner from a Thai restaurant Lestrade recommended last week. Will be here in ninety minutes.”</p><p class="western">Mycroft smiled. “Sounds good. And whatever are you planning to do in this one-and-a-half hour?”</p><p class="western">Sherlock grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Since you are naked and I only wear those silly pants, that’s an easy deduction.”</p><p class="western">“I’m glad you do still wear them. I’ve never seen you in such a breath of nothing before.” He really needed some lessons in romance, Mycroft thought, having dismissed Sherlock's choice as ridiculous. He looked awesome in this wanton state of dress.</p><p class="western">Mycroft decided on the spot that he would put more thought and effort in their sex life. He enjoyed it and he knew that Sherlock did, too, but busy as he was, he never took the time to be giddy and silly and think about new ways of pleasing one another. They did top and bottom in almost equal measures and they both loved giving head and licking each other but there was certainly more to sex than these basic activities.</p><p class="western">“Mycroft,” Sherlock chided, raising his eyebrows. “You are jumping to unjustified conclusions. I love our sex. I don’t need whips and acrobatics and roleplays. I merely wanted to wrap myself up as a gift – in a way. Should have added a red ribbon but I would have probably burnt it then along with our dinner...”</p><p class="western">Mycroft sat down on the bed, stroking over his curls. “I still want to spice things up a bit from time to time. You deserve it. <em>We </em>deserve it,” he corrected when Sherlock opened his mouth.</p><p class="western">“I don’t object to that, brother. But I’m very happy with what we have. And we’re about to have group sex now anyway.”</p><p class="western">“I beg your pardon?!”</p><p class="western">Sherlock laughed. “You, me, my pants and the chocolates.”</p><p class="western">“Ah. Of course! Let the games begin then!” And with this he was straddling Sherlock and kissed him fiercely before he started to explore his lover as if he had never had him in his arms before.</p><p class="western">*****</p><p class="western">Did Sherlock really deserve all the tenderness and caresses with which Mycroft was showering him now? After blowing up all his plans for this evening and almost his brother’s kitchen in the go?</p><p class="western">Sherlock begged to differ, but Mycroft obviously thought he did and who was he to argue with him? So he gave himself to his man, enjoying the glorious things that Mycroft's soft lips were doing to his neck, his chest, his nipples and, eventually, his cock.</p><p class="western">And Mycroft clearly enjoyed himself on every step of the way southwards. He decorated Sherlock's chest with the chocolates and took them from his body with his lips, offering them to Sherlock or eating them himself. From some he ate just a part and kissed the rest into Sherlock's mouth and it was all gloriously messy and sweet. And he had apparently taken a particular liking to Sherlock's embarrassing pants. When he got there, he lapped and sucked his cock through the silky fabric, and the rational part of Sherlock's mind wondered how dry his mouth would get in the process while the rest just screamed ‘more’ and ‘please’. It felt so good that Sherlock was constantly wriggling on the firm mattress of Mycroft's generous bed, his hands were caressing Mycroft's scalp, urging him to give him more.</p><p class="western">And after what felt like an eternity that was both pleasure and torture, Mycroft urged him to turn around, going on his knees, and plunged his head in Sherlock's still clothed crack with vigour as soon as Sherlock had offered him his behind like a cat in heat.</p><p class="western">His cock was so hard that it was threatening to burst and Sherlock's hole cried for being filled, so he found himself reduced to a begging mess when Mycroft teased his entrance through the pants.</p><p class="western">“Please! Take me!” God… He sounded like a wanton slut. Well, he was… He had not had Mycroft's large cock up his arse for way too long. He had wanted this evening to be romantic and tender but of course it had been meant to end like this – with fucking and screaming and going off like a rocket.</p><p class="western">And he did, as soon as Mycroft had mercy and entered him after licking him without any hindering clothing and eating an almond-caramel chocolate out of Sherlock's arse where he had placed it after presenting it to him like a magician who was announcing a particularly spectacular trick, and Sherlock almost keeled over at the naughtiness of this action. He whined when Mycroft worked in a generous amount of peach-flavoured lubricant to ease his way, not-really-accidentally stimulating his prostate with his long fingers. Probably Mycroft would have <strike>tortured</strike> spoilt him some more had they not awaited the arrival of their dinner.</p><p class="western">As things were, Sherlock found himself on the receiving end of increasingly hard pounding, and with wobbling arse-cheeks, a racing heart and his ears full of squelching noises and their combined grunting and moaning, he was panting himself towards his crisis while Mycroft was chasing his own. There had been a time when Sherlock had teased (or rather mocked) Mycroft with being lazy, but there was nothing to complain about regarding his physical performances in the bedroom…</p><p class="western">One of the politician’s fabulous hands was holding Sherlock's hip in place, the other one was giving his cock the friction it so desperately longed for, and so they tumbled over the edge almost at the same time, Sherlock shooting his seed up to his own chin and all over the sheets, Mycroft filling him up with bestial grunts.</p><p class="western">Sherlock collapsed into the mess he had made, feeling Mycroft sliding out of him, followed by more mess. His brother got up at once. “I better go refresh myself before our dinner comes,” he said, and Sherlock, barely able to formulate a thought, let alone a coherent word, could hear the smirk in his voice.</p><p class="western">As always, big brother was in control. He had so thoroughly lost it during their sex because he had allowed himself to do so, but he had gotten it back immediately while Sherlock couldn’t have even counted to ten in his condition. Admirable, that was what Mycroft Holmes was. Smart and sexy and wonderful, among so many other things. And despite his failed efforts to cook for them and spoil him just once, Sherlock hoped that Mycroft knew how much he loved him and how special every moment with him was – not only on Valentine’s Day. And when Mycroft came back to him to kiss him, smiling and stroking Sherlock's cheek, he knew that his brother was fully aware of it, and he smiled and held onto Mycroft's hand until he had to let go so Mycroft could collect their dinner.</p><p class="western">The End</p>
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